


Spin Me Round

by DyslexicTrashWriter



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Bianchi is your body guard, F/M, Hibari being his usual over confident self, Katekyo Hitman Reborn - Freeform, Pole dancer, Reader Insert, Sex Work Positive, slight AU, trashy one shot, visual impairment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicTrashWriter/pseuds/DyslexicTrashWriter
Summary: Hibari was a man of taste, refinement. He had no business attending a Vongola event with a pole dancer as the evening's entertainment.
Relationships: Hibari Kyouya/Reader, TYL!HibarixReader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Spin Me Round

Hibari Kyouya thought the Vongola was above this sort of thing. Tables and decorated chairs are laid out in circles around the raised marble stage. All perfectly designed down to the details of the ornate cutlery on the cutlery settled either side of the plate.

The tall pole erect in the middle of the stage a garish contrast to the otherwise refined atmosphere.

Huffing, Hibari takes a seat at a table to the far right. Hoping his company for the evening would know better than to be distracted by such frivolous, low bar entertainment. What was that herbivore boss thinking?

Guests arrive and after dinner is finished Hibari begins with his discussions. He’s never been a fan of crowds and dinners counted as some of the most unbearable kind of gatherings. A bunch of herbivores grazing and idling around with no direction, making too much noise. He’d get what he needed from this family and leave before drinks started flowing far too heavily.

As soon as the last plate is cleared, the lights dim and slowly the first few notes of a song begins to fill the room. God forbid, he has a moment to speak to the people in front of him before the entertainment started.

You appear on stage, dressed in noting more than an overly ornate gold and emerald bikini. Long stretches of fabric tied to the sides of your hips and heels that would look ridiculously high on anywhere but a stage. To Hibari’s surprise, the music is slow. Singular piano notes strike and harmonise together into an inverted pedal as you take the pole in hand and slowly bring yourself round to face the front of the stage. Feet gracefully setting a few inches in front of you as your weight transfers solely to your gripped hand. You begin to stretch, flexing your hips forward and drawing back as if grinding teasingly on a partner. How cliché he thinks as Hibari looks over his shoulder to notice his dinner guests are already captivated.

Your body sinks lower, and their heads follow like dogs watching an alpha dig into a fresh kill. Annoyed, Hibari folds his arms and opens his mouth to speak, but no-one pays him any attention. When he looks back, you’re on the floor of the stage. Lying decedantly on your side you seem to mime spreading your hands across the space in front of you as if running your fingers through grass. Your top leg comes round quickly, pulling your back end up as the tip of your heel slices across the floor. The movement creating a sharp sound like swish of metal in a fight. Stretching out your legs in a v shape Hibari can see parts of your inner thigh exposed, barely covered by the material. Sleazy really.

The movement continues. Rolling onto your other side you push back shift our weight to one arm. Bending it outward, you rest your weight forward and balance one knee on top of it. Leaning round you hold the position, raising your other leg and tumbling yourself forward as though dodging a sword or an attack. Another slice of your heel across the floor, bringing flashes to Hibari’s mind of slicing metal and skin.

It’s nothing fancy or particularly impressive. Such a move requires no more core strength and mobility than any fighter worth their salt. Hibari is unimpressed, that’s why he keeps watching. When you finish your half-battle-half-writing around seductively. You ascend to the poll, legs drawn up with grace and elegance you begin climbing, showing off as you spin. Curling in as though wounded from battle and then flexing yourself out with a certain strength as you maintain an almost perpendicular position to the floor.

Hibari doesn’t care, but as his eyes examine you, he can barely see a tremor in your muscles. It continues like that, shows of fragility and strength, ever climbing the height of the poll. Your head stays up as if looking to something. A greater victory, power maybe. The movement as you climb the pole, a reflection of battles. You spin backward, one arm holding you steady as you roll in mid-air. Bringing your leg round to the opposite side of the pole wit controlled grace and hooking it round the poll to circle you 180 degree. As if dodging and switching on an enemy. The music reflects this growing quicker and louder with drums and drones overtaking the melody.

As you get closer you move faster, lithe legs spread out in a perfect v formation as you hoist them up with continue momentum, never stopping, ever climbing and flexing. As though you are ascending a barrage of battles. Leaving the trails of fabric from your outfit to wrap around the pole marking your ascent. Each climb making you stronger, more triumphant, until you pause.

Invested is a strong word, but as Hibari watches you he feels intrigue your performance. A part of him willing you to keep climbing. You were meters from the top and suddenly you‘d stopped. Head moving from above to look at something level with you. Slowly, seductively, you reach out your hand to the invisible sight. Distracted from your goal. The music lulling to a soft aria of pianos and violins as you move.

It’s too far, you try to lunge forward, swinging back as you move your grip from you hand to your thighs. Trying to gain momentum as the music swell and the strings of the violins vibrate. Boldly, to the bated breath of everyone in the room. You shift your grip to your calves. Reaching further still, arms and body dancing as though entranced by the sight in front of you.

And then you drop, all at once.

Reaching too far out you lose your grip and tumble down the pole. Lights flash and an audible gasp sounds from the crowd. Head over legs or head you fall. The music becoming a drowning mesh of percussion and brass.

But Hibari can see it. Even in the drama of the lights and turn of the music. The flex of your muscles. The strength and grip in your hand as you change weight from arm to legs. The fall takes shapes. As your body moves down the pole, tumbling to different forms, backbends to upside-down leg curls to windmilling down the silver support with such smooth transition it’s invisible to the untrained eye.

You’d been distracted from your goal and this was the fall that came with achieving such victory and pride. Slipping down the poll, moving past all your trails and achievements.

When you reach the last quarter of the poll, you slow down. The golden ties near your bikini expertly wrapped around the support as you fall down now function as a safety net. Foot hooking into the first wrap you made and guiding the fabric to twist and catch you as you near the ground. Letting you down slowly as a cradle against the ground.

You writhe, slowly pushing your hips up like a fallen bird trying to fly. Arms circling flat against the stage floor the music dies to a slow fade, the light brightens and gives one last flash before they dim completely.

It’s a standing ovation.

Hibari doesn’t see the need for such noise, but he finds his hands moving together anyway. Quietly, but moving.

Bored of the conversation at his table, Hibari decides to venture backstage. There’s only one area ever used for performers in this venue, it isn’t difficult to find. Your room however is. Among a trail of acts with their names in flashy fonts on the doors, yours isn’t one of them. There’s no name tag on the final door he checks, just a series of seemingly random bumps on a metal plate hung haphazardly on the front.

“Who are you?” A woman dressed in a dark suit asks him abruptly. Hibari glowers and moves to open the door. Only for a firm hand to stop him.

Huffing and retracting his hand quickly, Hibari gives the woman a moment of his time. “I’m Hibari Kyouya.” He informs her.

“And?” She replies.

Feeling the itch of air between his hands and his trusty tonfas Hibari tries again. “I’m an honoured guest of the Vongola.” He states, feeling tired of this adventure already.

“Uh-huh.” The woman says slowly, seemingly testing if Hibari will leave if she just doesn’t do anything

A brief, silent showdown battles as she stares him down before sighing. “Fine.” Knocking on the door she calls your name and Hibari notes how beautiful it sounds. Fitting really.

“Who is it Bianchi?” You ask, calling from inside your dressing room. Not bothering to get up and greet him at the door yourself.

“Some Vongola guy. The ones paying you tonight.” The woman informs you.

“Profile?” You ask, and through the slight opening of the door Hibari can see you, seated in an old fashioned directors chair you are in front of a large vanity mirror, carefully doing your hair. Even more stunning off the stage.

Bianchi turns back to look at Hibari, sizing him up wordlessly. “’ Mid-twenties, ‘bout 6’2-6’3 kinda dark moppy hair. Could do with a cut.” She replies, distaste in her tone like she’s describing the dead carcass brought home by an overeager dog.

“Did he bring flowers?” You ask, not bothering to look at him in the mirror or move your attention as you lean forward and carefully bring the heal of your hand to your chin, positioning the lipstick at the edge of your lip, guiding the movement with your forefinger as you swipe. Bianchi looks down at Hibari’s empty hands with an unsurprised disappointment.

“No.” She responds. You sigh, pulling your face back from the mirror and turning your head to continue the conversation.

“Is he handsome enough to get away with not bringing flowers?” You ask before turning back, finishing up the bottom swipe of lipstick.

Bianchi does another quick glance over Hibari, shaking her head. “Maybe by your standards.” She says, somewhat dryly. And you respond with an amused laugh, gesturing for Hibari to be let in.

The room is luxurious and well lit. Decorated with draped fabrics, a vintage styled trunk suitcase with matching carryon and an array of styling products, clothes and other feminine contraptions. Most of the bottles have similar indenting to the plate outside your door. Dots too organised to be decorative. The same one appearing on the luggage tags from your flight here. With all furniture moved to the side, Hibari finds himself standing in the middle of the room without anything to lean against.

“I saw you watching me from the crowd.” You say, pursing your lips in and cementing a deep true red colour onto your lips. Still, you don’t turn to look at him, or even acknowledge his reflection in your mirror.

Hibari lets out an amused huff of air and walks over to the far wall, resting his side against it as he watches you continue your work. A low florescent hum sounds from the lightbulbs that lie your vanity. The whole room a homage to vintage Hollywood stylings.

“I find that hard to believe.” He says.

A smirk draws up the corner of your mouth. “They told you then, did they?” You say, shifting forward in your chair and bringing yourself to stand in front of the mirror. Running your hands over your outfit and shifting the string of your bikini bottom. Drawing Hibari’s eye briefly to the thinly veiled outline of your rear end, an intriguing sight.

He quirks an eyebrow when he processes your response, unsure what you mean as you walk around the side of the chair and pause, looking at the wall in front of you. Still in the same bikini, your body is stunning. Every roll and curve and line strong and firm. Years of hard training hidden under a seductive layer of body shimmer and ornate gold designs. Feminine and powerful.

As Hibari’s gaze raises he settles on your eyes, up closer, they have a soft grey layer to them like the moon shining through clouds on a dark winter night. They remind him of the view from Namimori rooftop. Captivating and serene all at the same time.

“So, did you come to stare or did you have something to say?” You ask, clearly sensing his lack of verbal response.

Shifting in place, Hibari brings himself together, remembering who he is.

“I came to say I enjoyed your performance.” He says, feeling his usual levels of confidence and suave return form his momentary stare at your body. Beautiful you may be, but he was Hibari Kyouya he could not be distracted so easily.

“That all?” You ask, turning slightly as you get a better idea of where he’s standing. You’ve taken off your heels, and up close you can’t be more than three of four inches smaller than him. How tall you must be with those on, Hibari marvels to himself. No doubt, if he played his cards right he’d get to see exactly how you looked up close in those heels. He smirks, pulling himself off the wall and stepping forward. Perhaps you could appreciate the importance of his presence if you were closer.

“Just that it’s a shame. You can’t see how handsome I am.” Hibari says self-assuredly, throwing a flirtatious ball into your court to see how well you can handle it.

You snort, seemingly able to acknowledge his presence better as he steps closer and you reposition yourself to face him.

“I can still see shapes.” You explain a hand brought up to hold the line of his jaw pointedly. “ Just means I’m immune from that smug look assholes like you get on their face when you think you have a chance with a pole dancer like me.” You remark, with something of a knowing, smug look on your own face as you trail your hand away from his skin. Hibari feels a similar reaction grow on his own lips as you circle him, unmoving eyes weighing up what you can see of his form as you depart mid circle and move to a table at the side of the room.

“What makes you think I’d want to have a chance with a pole dancer,” Hibari remarks, folding his arms and puffing out his chest, unsure of how much of his bravados comes off now you’ve moved away.

“You’re here aren’t you?” You reply, hands searching along the cotton slip of the table until fingertips press against an ornate glass jug.

Hibari scowls, feeling suddenly attacked.

Expertly, you flick the top of the bottle off and pour yourself a glass of what looks to be whiskey given the light brown colour. Adept hands running over the surface of the laid out glasses, they reach the cold touch of the ice bucket and slip up to the carefully placed pair of silver tongs.

You fix yourself a whiskey neat before remembering you have company, or maybe you were toying with him. Making a show of fixing your own drink before offering him.

“Drink?” You say, picking up a second glass.

Hibari doesn’t drink often, and when he does he prefers sake. But the usual bitter industrial smell of alcohol isn’t present and so he opts to try it. Nodding. Before realising that won’t cut it.

“Yes.” He says, holding out his hand.

Finishing up the glass you’re pouring, your free hand reaches out for his fingertips. Your skin is warm and rough as your fingers slide along his and come to rest, curling against his palm. With cautious grace, you bring the glass up in your other hand and slide it between your curled digits and the sole of his hand. Only letting go when you feel his fingers take the weight off yours.

Your skin is warm, but tough. Years of work soldered onto the pads of your palm. A sign of dedication and courage. Hibari briefly wonders how long you’ve been doing you’re chosen art. How many bruised knees, how many falls and slips one experiences when performing so high on such a small support.

“Why did you start?” Hibari asks, returning his outstretched arm to his personal space. And wondering how he could get those rough hands to touch him again.

“Dancing?” You ask, swirling the liquid in your glass as you gaze in his general direction and lean back against the fabric draped wall of your dressing room. The iris of your eyes slightly faded and dazzling as you answer him. “Or drinking.” You follow up, drawing Hibari out of his distracted gaze.

Hibari smirks. Something about not being fully seen, about not having to care what his face says for him, puts the man at ease.

“Both.” He says, feeling a genuine curiosity as he brings the glass up to his lips. To his surprise, it’s nothing more than a very dry apple juice.

“Well. Mr Hibari Kyouya,” You say pulling yourself off the wall and closing the distance between the two of you. “Like most things in life. I give it a try, and if I like it. . .” You continue, stepping close enough to him so that your face is inches away from his as Hibari feels drawn towards you. “I keep doing it.” You smirk, bringing your glass up to your lips.

Almost immediately your face screws up.

“Bianchi!” You shout Marching towards the door and nearly dropping your glass as you slam it down barely an inch from the edge of the table.

“You have an encore tonight! I’m not letting you get tipsy again.” An authoritative voice retorts from behind the door.

“I have a- ah fuck.” You whisper, eyes snapping closed for a second. “This is why I tell you to read everything in the contract to me, not just the highlights!” You shout back, with more a tired annoyance than any real malice.

The glass is taken from Hibari’s hand. Your fingertip trailing from his forearm, down his wrist and sliding parallel to his own digits as they take it. A strangely intimate motion. The glasses are put away and you gesture kindly to the door as you explain you have other engagements tonight,

Hibari licks his lips, as he walks towards the exit he’s sure to pause before opening the door.

“I look forward to your next performance.” He says, keeping his voice sultry and quiet so you lean in to hear him. Perhaps ensuring you’ll remember the sound of his voice in such a seductive tone next time he visits.

You smirk, using your foot to nudge open the door you give him an uptilted nod. “I’ll look for you in the crowd.” You wink.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't take any credit for this idea, I read cow_mooooo's fic here > https://archiveofourown.org/works/23695204/chapters/56891410 with a visually impaired reader x Hibari and thought it was a fantastic idea! Hibari relies so much on non-verbal communication to be understood, he'd really have to get out of his grumpy comfort zone if he wanted a chance with someone visually impaired. I'll admit the pole dancing thing is 100% because I've been listening to too much FKA twigs lately. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy a little T rated trashy romance.


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